


Drowning

by dainochild



Category: Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Attempted Rape, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con References, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dainochild/pseuds/dainochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the age of 6, N has been playing a secret game with Daddy he can't tell anybody about. Daddy will only say he loves him while they're playing the game. Whenever they play the game, N feels like he's drowning: drowning under Daddy’s huge body, drowning in pain, drowning in the silence, and drowning in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning

It was just a new game, Daddy said, and it was one N should give a try.  
  
He held N down, on his front, and it hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt. It was like burning while being ripped apart by Daddy’s big hands as they pulled N’s legs further apart. The only way it hurt less was listening to the breathy grunt in his ear of, “Daddy loves you.”  
  
The only time Daddy ever said it was when he had N pinned down like this, when there was something too big inside him and Daddy’s hand was shoved in N’s mouth so he couldn’t scream or cry or even breathe. Daddy would say he loved him, and N wouldn’t be able to try and scream or cry or even breathe any more. Which was for the best, really — N wasn’t allowed to tell anybody. It was their special, secret game. N was six, after all. Six was old enough to keep a secret.  
  
N didn’t like the game, but Daddy did, so they kept playing it. Sometimes, N would cry because he was so scared of playing. Other times, N would hide under the bed and watch the door all night.  
  
But Daddy liked the game, so they kept playing it.  
  
Whenever they played the game, N felt like he was drowning: drowning under Daddy’s huge body, drowning in pain, drowning in the silence, and drowning in love.  
  
Because it was love. Daddy said so. That was why he played the game. Daddy did it because he loved N, and N let him because he loved Daddy.  
  
The more they played, and the older N became, the less it hurt. He stopped crying and hiding; it had probably hurt so much because he kept trying to avoid it. It was something that had to happen, though, as sure as the sun setting and the moon rising and as sure as Pokémon needed liberation. Daddy never lied.  
  
Sometimes months would pass without playing, and it was in these months that N would start to hide and cry again. He didn’t know why, he just would, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and sometimes he’d feel the throbbing pain that was there between his legs whenever Daddy stopped playing even though Daddy hadn’t even looked at him, and N would feel like he was drowning.  
  
Other times, it would happen night after night until N couldn’t feel his body any more. It was like it wasn’t his, it was someone else’s, but he could always feel the breathy whisper of, ‘ _Daddy loves you_ ’.  
  
N always threw up a lot, always took too much medication for his migraines, and always hated it when anyone but Daddy touched him. As he grew older, he started to hate it when anyone but Daddy even looked at him, started to resent having to call Daddy Ghetsis in public, and loathed the lower Plasma women Daddy would talk to softly like he wanted to play with them, too.  
  
The Pokémon always understood. They didn’t like to be touched or looked at either, they didn’t want to eat, but unlike N the Pokémon had a reason. The Pokémon were torn up because nobody loved them. Their Trainers used them, abused them, cast them aside and then expected them to be waiting to serve again. Team Plasma liberated them, saved them from the abuse, from the terror that was humans meeting with Pokémon. They were drowning in the lack of love, whereas N was drowning in too much.  
  
The Pokémon were his friends, and N wanted to save his friends from the people who hurt them. He wanted nothing more than to separate the world of humans from the world of Pokémon. He wanted it so much it kept his head up; that dream was the only thing keeping N from drowning to death in Daddy’s love.  
  
When N was nineteen, not long after he’d been officially crowned, he was told to leave the castle and find the Dark Stone. He didn’t want to leave Daddy, but was firmly told that the time for liberation had come, and Daddy would be travelling too, so N would reap no benefits from remaining in the castle. The whole lecture, N craved to be looked at, to hear the whisper of love even if it meant enduring the agony once more, but neither happened. Daddy didn’t look at him; Daddy didn’t touch him; Daddy was Ghetsis and it was strictly business.  
  
N left with a large supply of medication for his migraines, tears for how much he would miss his Pokémon friends, and hatred for the constant struggle with Daddy’s love. It was going to kill him, N was sure, but wouldn’t it be better to die believing in Daddy’s best intentions?  
  
In Accumula Town, N’s head was constantly pounding as thought it were being repeatedly bashed against the stone pavement. People talked to him. They said ‘hello’ like they were trying to be friendly, but in their eyes N could see that they wanted something. He didn’t know what, and the idea of finding out terrified him. Whenever he talked to people, N tried to get it over with as quickly as possible because their eyes were so unnerving.  
  
But it was comforting to hear Daddy rant to the general public in the same ideological way he would rant to N. Or, comforting and distressing; N enjoyed the words, his father’s steady tone, the fact that it left every sickening Trainer reconsidering their terrible ways however briefly because that’s just how powerful Daddy was, but N didn’t enjoy that it sounded  _just like_  when Daddy would describe the plight of Pokémon to N. Daddy shouldn’t talk to anyone else in the way he spoke to N. N needed to be different, to know Daddy thought he was special and didn’t love anybody else. The pain like being ripped apart, the migraines like his head was being beaten to the point of collapse, the burning of vomit whenever he tried to eat, and the feeling so completely empty, like he was just bones wrapped in flesh going through mindless motions — N could stand it all for the few whispers of love. To be worth something. To make Daddy proud, like a son is supposed to.  
  
But he couldn’t stand the idea that Ghetsis could talk to complete strangers in the same way he would talk to his son. N couldn’t stand to think that after all he was forced to endure, Daddy still didn’t really love him.  
  
When he was standing off to the side, glad that he hadn’t eaten lest it rise up again, N saw three Trainers. Two of them looked much the same; both had hair the colour of chestnuts, same warm skin colour that made N glance to his own with repulsion, but one was a boy with eyes matching their hair and the other was a girl with eyes like water and they dressed very differently. The third was black-haired and stood straight, yet not how N did; not because Daddy wants you to be a King, so you must look the part or else everything you want will be in ruins. No, the black-haired one stood up straight like he had nothing at all to be ashamed of and boldly declared that Plasma was full of morons.  
  
What amazed N most was their Pokémon, who seemed just as bright and cheerful as their Trainers. It didn’t make sense, until N recalled that humans speak in lies. Still, N was compelled, so he spoke to the Tepig, the Snivy, and the Oshawott. It was much easier to speak to their Trainers when he remained focused on their Pokémon, especially when the Trainers exchanged looks. N didn’t know the emotion behind the looks, but he knew it was nothing good. He also knew they didn’t like him, but that didn’t matter. N already had too much love in his life.  
  
As he travelled, N kept telling himself this, yet he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the way they seemed, to glow — especially the twins, Black and White. They were beautiful, glorious, wonderful, and it made N feel nauseous whenever he thought of them, but he didn’t know why. He couldn’t stop thinking about them, either.  
  
Months passed. N came closer and closer to reaching his goal. Eventually, N ran out of medication, but he barely noticed; the migraines passed quickly, and the nausea washed away with water. Wild Pokémon weren’t eager to be his friend like the ones brought to the Castle, but they would eventually allow N to approach. It felt awkward, reaching out to touch them, but N always wanted to and the Pokémon seemed to relish the attention of something far beyond what they were used to.  
  
It wasn’t right, N told himself. The Pokémon shouldn’t  _want_  the attention. They should be free to live in their own world, untainted, without fear of pain like being ripped apart or reaching too far beyond reason for a little praise and affection.  
  
N thought of Ghetsis all the time, but he didn’t miss him. Every footstep, every scurrying sound, every creek in the dead of the night, was Daddy coming back to drag N back down into his love. N felt rough hands on his skin, sharp tugs on his hair, breaths in his ear, all when there was nothing that could logically do so. It kept him awake all the time, but at least it wasn’t a migraine so harsh he couldn’t think, nausea so unsettling he couldn’t eat, or worse — the real thing.  
  
Then N felt terrible. Daddy would be sad, to know that his son couldn’t even miss him. It wasn’t right. A child is supposed to honour their father and their father’s wishes, and N did still crave to make Daddy proud. Which was why he was going to summon Reshiram or Zekrom, no matter how many happy Pokémon White would shove in his face, or snide remarks Black would make about ‘ _not seeing the real world_ ’.  
  
Black and White didn’t have a father. Black’s Swoobat told N as much, and it was all N needed to know to understand they would never see his point-of-view.  
  
Yet, they were something special. White was loud, outspoken, tough as nails and seemed immune to the cold. But Black, Black was something else entirely. He didn’t talk even half as much as his sister, but he said more. His eyes were ablaze with something N couldn’t quite understand, something like a truth he couldn’t grasp… It fascinated N. It was rare for him to encounter something he didn’t understand; the world was straightforward. Pokémon are damaged beyond repair by humans. Humans do not deserve Pokémon. Do this, and Daddy will love you even more. The entire world was just a series of simple equations, but whenever Black had that look in his eye as he scoffed at the ‘liberation’, N had to wonder, why do Pokémon stick with humans? Why do humans crave Pokémon so? And why did N have to hurt for Daddy to love him?  
  
Due to Black’s scoffing, N started to look closely at the  _people_  of the world, not just the Pokémon. He saw fathers vocalise love for their children without ripping them apart, and children dismissing it like it was nothing. Like they heard it all the time.  
  
Whenever N saw Ghetsis, however briefly, he broke out in cold sweat. Sometimes, N would catch a glimpse of his own hair and feel the same sweat, and then he felt worse than ever. He couldn’t talk to Ghetsis any more, just nod, because N knew that if he spoke it would quickly twist into the simple question of  _why_. And N was too afraid to find out why, because he already knew the answer. That answer was why N had spent his life slowly drowning in migraines, vomit, and fear of his own hair.  
  
Ghetsis didn’t want to talk to N, anyway. He wanted to talk to the Hero of Ideals, King of Plasma, liberator of Pokémon. That N, the N who would snap back at Black and call White ridiculous, who actually enjoyed things, even things as simple as Ferris wheels and mathematical equations, who never compromised and stood strong in his beliefs, didn’t feel real. It was like someone else would seize his body and behave as he was supposed to, but the façade was cracked and little pieces of the weakness within leaked through.  
  
N couldn’t be weakness. Daddy wouldn’t ever love weakness. So N did it; he summoned Zekrom, half-expecting to be obliterated on the spot. But Zekrom looked at him with red eyes that just knew, and it gave N the strength to turn around and gloat at Black.  
  
Black was like N’s opposite. The Hero of Truth against the Hero of Ideals. A truth was good to know, but it was an ideal that gave the truth meaning. N had to crush the truth, had to prove to both Daddy and himself that N’s dream was the best future for their worlds. He wanted to fight to see for sure that the truth he secretly knew didn’t matter at all.  
  
Then they actually fought. N lost everything. The moment the last Pokémon fell, N desperately glanced to Daddy, seeking solace in his eyes and —  
  
All he found was loathing.  
  
It was then N realised, that was what he had been seeing all along. He never had been drowning in love, but an opposite so extreme he had never been able to tell the difference.  
  
N felt sicker than he had in his entire life, but he still felt an overwhelming urge to save his father.  
  
He couldn’t do it.  
  
That wasn’t right.  
  
Daddy — Ghetsis had planned the whole thing. Every little detail was a factor in a carefully calculated equation. N was just like a beaten Pokémon, and he’d been too blind to ever realise it because he was drowning in the hate.  
  
N had to run away.  
  
Because if he ran away, far away where no one had ever heard of him, Plasma, or Zekrom, N could pretend that Daddy had loved him in the right way. He would tell lie after lie after lie, until he was drowning in them all and his mind became so truth-starved that his lies were reality.

**Author's Note:**

> I am a victim of childhood sexual abuse and incest. My own experiences and reactions to triggering were used in the making of this fic. Please bear this in mind if you choose to comment.


End file.
